


don't leave me hanging

by farseandfolly



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:34:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6631621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farseandfolly/pseuds/farseandfolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm sorry in advance.</p>
    </blockquote>





	don't leave me hanging

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry in advance.

 

It is the night of May 20th when Haru's world begins to crumble. His heart is pounding through his chest, as loud as the sirens that blare in the background, sending bright rays of red across the ocean and into the sand, where his toes curl into themselves. It sounds like he's swimming again, the intensity of the noise fading and raising when his head enters and exits the water. 

Except this time it isn't a cheering crowd from the stands - it's sirens and police officers and paramedics who noisily bustle into and pass Haru, bombarding him with questions he doesn't know the answer to. 

It is the night of May 20th when Makoto is being lifted onto a stretcher by four paramedics who flank him on all sides. His usually tanned face is a sickly grey, and his hair is wet and plastered to his forehead in straight strands, adorned with bits of slimy seaweed. 

Haru has never felt more sick in his life. 

He wants to run away, but his feet are clamped to the sand beneath him, their tiny grains latching onto the soles of his feet and holding him hostage. His head is spinning as he tries to register the sounds of the shouting, the blaring, the sobbing, and all the noise. 

All the noise. 

He wants to scream but his vocal chords seemed to have malfunctioned, along with his brain and his whole entire being. He should be sobbing, tears flowing down his face in an endless cascading waterfall until there was no more left to let go. He should be screaming until his voice is raw, until the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth and his throat is sore for weeks, no months, later. 

But nothing comes out. 

And in a moment of immense fear and panic and desperation that has woven it's way deep into his gut, the type of panic that is so strong and so blindingly painful that it's very existence leaves you paralyzed with fear, he reaches out to grab Makoto's hand, to entwine his fingers with his own, to feel safe and secure and to stop this pain. 

Except it doesn't work. 

Makoto isn't there. 

 

~0~

The funeral is three days later and is a solemn event, the church a sea of black to mourn the death of Makoto. Haru has never felt the urge to rid himself of clothing more in his life as he does now, the thick and itchy material of his suit weighing down on him and threatening to suffocate him even more with each passing minute. He sits in a pew with Nagisa, Rei and Rin, all of whom are wearing matching suits, with the exception of Nagisa who insisted on wearing a bright, neon penguin button stuck into his shirt, despite Rei's sighs and complaints. 

"Makoto would love it," Nagisa had said, his face scrunched tight in determination and his eyes puffy and red. 

Haru thinks so too. 

~0~ 

 

The service drags on agonizingly long, but however, everything passes in a blur. He does not cry once, not even during the eulogy when Rei quietly excused himself to go 'use the restroom'.

He does not cry when Nagisa and Rin suddenly collapsed into each other and shook, their voices choked and raw and their tears dripping down their noses and dotting the polished pew beneath them.

He does not cry when they lower the casket into the ground for cremation, it's shiny black surface reflecting the light from the stained glass windows, the depressing organ melody filling his brain with something other than emptiness. 

He does not cry when he sees Ren and Ran, their small bodies clinging to their mother, shaking as though they'd been set on vibrate. 

He does not cry when his classmates approach him in swarms, singing the praises of his best friend and sharing their regrets about how upset they were that they didn't get to know Mako - chan better. 

Some people, Haru realizes, only care about you when you're dead. 

                                   ~0~

 

Haru excuses himself from the Tachibana's house after the service, claiming he needed some time alone. It wasn't a lie after all, and Haru didn't think he had the ability to handle more people approaching him and talking about Makoto as though Haru didn't know him for his entire life, as though Haru wasn't his best friend. 

He begins to feel sick again. 

He breaks into a sprint, the wind taking his hair and blowing it in a black mop behind him. His face contorts into one he knows is of sadness and horror and confusion and a pure, blinding hatred for everyone and everything that isn't his best friend.

His best friend. 

Makoto. 

Now more than ever does Haru want to shriek, he wants to scare everyone in the whole of Iwatobi out of their skin, to the point where his scream features in their darkerst nightmares for years to come. 

Because Haru is living his worst nightmare right now. Why shouldn't anyone else feel the same?  

But he does not. 

He doesn't scream because he can't, he is physically unable to. There is a clamp around his voicebox, constricting his every attempt at word formation, except for the occasional 'Sorry,'. 

He doesn't scream because he feels guilty. Not guilty for wanting to scare his town, guilty for doing such a thing that would imply that for once in his life, Mako was not there. Not to hug him, or to comfort him, or to get a grip on Haru. 

Not to call him 'Haruka' as habit, which then led to him being reprimanded by the blue eyed boy because - ' _I thought we'd agreed not to call me that' -_ even though Haru didn't mind it as much as he let on. 

Or maybe it was just because Makoto had said it. 

He has never barrelled through his door faster in his life.  

 

~0~

_'Aw, Haru, I'm sorry,"_

_Haru fixed his gaze straight ahead, refusing to look up at the older boy or doing any such thing that would admit defeat. Yes, he knew he was being immature, but best friends are supposed to wait for each other, even if it's late and Haru's class is being held back after school. And yes, he knows that Mrs. Tachibana had called Makoto home personally, but it was terrifying to find that Makoto wasn't there at six in the evening._

_Haru had to force himself to keep his head straight, to break the regular routine that he and Mako shared. He tried to concentrate on the feeling of the water, trying to take up brain storage with the temperature and the feeling of it beneath his fingers as he skirted them on the surface, his body completely submerged._

_"I told your teacher to tell you that I had to leave early and couldn't walk home with you today. Didn't she tell you?"_

_And suddenly confusion moves into the home that the characteristics of water had rented, his brow immediately furrowed. He had heard nothing of it from his teacher. In fact, she only gave the class an agonizingly long lecture before they sat in an awkward silence and she dismissed them after an hour, telling him she expected their behaviour to 'turn right around before tomorrow's class'._

_"What are you talking about?" Haru replied, his gaze still fixed straight ahead on Makoto's deep red shorts and fixating himself on the tortoise shell button on his pocket._

_"I'm guessing she didn't tell you then," Makoto sighed. "Mom needed me to watch Ren and Ran, she and Dad had some emergency,"_

_"Oh," Haru said, suddenly feeling like an idiot as he gave in and stared up at Makoto, his young, 12 year old face set into a worried stare. He hated that he always made Makoto worry and he hated nothing more than seeing that expression on his face, his eyes sad and a darker shade of green then usual._

_Once the green eyed boy noticed Haru finally looking at him, his face broke into a wide smile, and even Haru felt a strong, unexpected surge of relief as Makoto held out his hand for Haru to take and climb out of the tub._

_Haru stared at it and wondered how anyone in the world could be so forgiving. He always envied Makoto's easy going nature, and how well he was able to talk to and tolerate people. It was the exact opposite of Haru, whose face was usually set in a semipermanent scowl and whose preferred method of avoiding someone was to send a deathglare as they passed him._

_Yeah, Haru was a real people person._

_It was only when Haru heard Makoto's voice again that he finally registered how long he'd been staring at his hand for without the appropriate reaction._

_"Aw, come on Haru, don't leave me hanging,"_

_But Haru would never. Not in a million years. Not for all the money and mackerel and the planets and water that the universe had to hold. He wouldn't leave Makoto hanging even if it meant he could never swim again._

_So Haru reached out and met the older boy's hand in a tight grasp, and with a small squeeze, pulled himself out of the tub._

_~0~_

It was dark when Haru awoke, his blue eyes taking some time to adjust to the dramatic change of lighting all around him. May 23rd. He and the team were planning to visit the shrines to pray for good luck for upcoming competitions and then goof off at Nagisa's house afterwards. Judging by the lighting, it was probably 7:30, and Makoto would be here any moment. 

So Haru waited, his head lolling back and forth against the tile, his fingers sliding in and out of the water at random intervals. 

Haru waited, watching the dolphin toy bob up and down as his constant change of positions sent ripples it's way, wondering why the hell Makoto wasn't there yet and debating whether he should call him or not. 

And suddenly reality drove itself into Haru with the force of a thousand cruise ships speeding towards him at 100 miles an hour, leaving burning feeling in his stomach and a letting sob choke from his throat because fuck, the cruise ships hurt  _so much_ and all he wanted was for Makoto to be there and to lift him from the tub and hold him and to tell him that everything was going to be okay. 

Except nothing was okay at all. 

Makoto would never reach out his hand and lift Haru from the tub. 

Ever. 

Again. 

And Haru screams, all the caged emotions that he'd kept locked inside him for the past three days finally bursting in a whirwind of anger and sadness and longing and pure, raw devastation because the space in Haru's being where Makoto was kept was suddenly ripped from him and he doesn't know what to do. 

And more than anything he wants to vanish from existence, anything to stop the bile from rising steadily in his throat and the hot tears streaming down his face, anything to stop the iron rod from poking in his gut and the feeling off breathlessness as he screams.

But he doesn't do anything drastic as he would have liked. Makoto would never forgive him.

And that only makes him cry harder.

Reaching his trembling, muscled arm out and upwards he imagines Makoto's smiling face, his green eyes shimmering with happiness and his structured face carved into a beautiful smile, Haru's favourite thing in the whole entire universe. Haru grasps at the air pathetically, imagining the space to be Makoto's large, warm hand but then is reminded by his best friend reality that Makoto is fucking dead. 

With his voice raspy and his eyes clouded, Haru chokes as he forms the last words he will probably ever speak in months, his hand burning from it's rigid position in the air. 

"Please, Makoto," He gasped. "Don't leave me hanging," 

**Author's Note:**

> This idea is based off a headcanon that was sent into makoharuheadcanon on tumblr: http://makoharuheadcanon.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Any feedback would be appreciated.


End file.
